


Discipline

by Myricle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Light-Hearted, Professor Harry Potter, let's just have fun with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myricle/pseuds/Myricle
Summary: After the battle, Hogwarts needs a new Defence professor. Harry has some time to kill while the Auror office is made ready for new recruits, so he decides to take the job. And if Hermione, returning for her seventh year, finds it patronising being taught by her best friend, well, he’ll just have to find a way to make it tolerable for both of them.





	1. Setting the Stage

**Chapter One: Setting the Stage**

“Are you coming back too?” I asked over the din.

The Hog’s Head was a little rowdier than usual, but most pubs were these days. There was a lot to celebrate. The air was warm and smelled of firewhiskey, which flowed like water on evenings like this. I had just returned from my successful job interview at Hogwarts, and the news had reached Hogsmeade before me. Who wouldn’t be pleased to know the Chosen One himself was teaching their kids?

Ron laughed. “You couldn’t pay me to go back to class after everything that’s happened.” He sobered quickly. “Plus… I need to be with the family right now, you know?”

I felt a little guilty about my decision all of a sudden. Ron spotted it on my face and quickly shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it mate,” he said. “They need a teacher, don’t they? Who better than you?” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “And, to be honest, I think I need some time away from Hermione. It’s just… a family thing right now, you know? At least if you’re there, you can keep her from getting too lonely.”

I gave him a strained smile. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

I rolled off Ginny and propped myself up, catching my breath. I watched her chest rise and fall with the little stutters she always got after multiple orgasms. Her vibrant hair was splayed in a fiery explosion behind her head, and little strands clung to her damp neck. But most of all, I watched her bright brown eyes immediately drift away from the bed, returning to quieter, more thoughtful places.

I reached over and flicked her still-erect nipple. She gasped in pleasure. It was an automatic response, like a car clicking after the engine was turned off. Her eyes were still far away.

I sighed and flopped onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Grimmauld Place was my house, and I was in the process of turning it into a home. I had thought… had _hoped_ … that Ginny would play an integral role in that. A starring role, even. But ever since the immediate rush of victory had faded, she had become a quieter, more hesitant person than I had ever known her to be.

Ginny was taking some time off from Hogwarts, though she assured her mother she would return and graduate properly in a couple of years. We’d barely talked about my new job, and I was growing more and more anxious.

“So are you going to come and visit?” I asked. I slid my hand onto her belly, dipping my fingers into her navel. It was like trying to perform CPR. I just wanted a real response.

“Mm,” Ginny murmured.

_We’re losing her,_ I thought.

“What are you thinking about?” I said softly, snuggling closer and dropping my hand lower into the wetness I had inspired a few minutes ago. It was drying quickly.

“Just…” she said, before shaking her head slightly. “Nothing.”

“Just what?” I pressed.

“Just _nothing_ ,” she insisted, finally looking directly at me, her eyes wide and honest as though there was any chance I would believe her. She moved in for a kiss and stroked my neck, a fairly obvious bit of misdirection that offended me.

I broke the kiss and shuffled back. She lunged forward, chasing me, trying to make me lose my train of thought. I evaded, employing my elbows and forearms as a forward guard against her assault.

Ginny switched tactics, suddenly jerking upright.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I just remembered I have to meet…” I could almost see the roulette wheel spinning in her head as she considered which family member to implant in her lie. “Charlie,” she finished.

“Really?” I said, feigning interest as I sat up and watched her rush about getting dressed. “Mind if I tag along? Might be good to get a third perspective on our collapsing relationship.”

She didn’t even register my second sentence. “Sorry, I just want to see him alone,” she said from within her T-shirt as she wriggled into it. “Family stuff, you know?”

That sounded similar to Ron’s reasoning. I wondered if it was Weasley family code for ‘redheads only, batten down the hatches’. I understood the desire to pull everyone close after a crisis, but I was a little miffed that Hermione and I were apparently not considered Weasley enough to be a part of it.

Ginny finished dressing and left me with no more than a peck on the cheek. The next time I saw her, she was waving on King’s Cross as I left for my first term as a professor.

* * *

My first day was a disaster.

Despite the months I spent preparing, familiarising myself with the curriculum, and receiving guidance from my fellow teachers, nothing could prepare me for the difficulty involved in teaching kids that practically saw me as a living Merlin. Every time I asked a question, they would freeze or panic. One little second-year actually fainted when I told her she did a good job.

I didn’t have the seventh-years that day, but I asked Hermione to come to my office anyway so I could complain to her over tea. She, on the other hand, had found it easy to re-join the school system, but had run into the same difficulties as me among the younger members of her house. They knew she was my best friend and had been by my side during the war right up to the end. That granted her a celebrity status all her own, which she bemoaned at length over a few cups of Chai.

“I had a first-year ask me to sign their trunk on the train,” Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. I don’t think I’ve ever truly appreciated the kind of nonsense you put up with for years until now.”

“Wait until your first marriage proposal,” I replied with a laugh.

As the evening went on, our complaints went from trivial to real. I opened up about Ginny’s behaviour and Hermione met me halfway with her complaints about Ron. It seemed like, in the wake of the battle, the Weasley family was closing ranks at the (possibly accidental) expense of their honorary members. Maybe they didn’t want us to see the way they grieved, or maybe they even associated us with their loss and didn’t need the reminder.

Regardless of the reasons, Hermione and I were left frustrated and lonely.

Not a good mix when the firewhiskey comes out.

Evening turned into night in a haze of nostalgic stories and terrible jokes that left us clutching our aching sides. I glanced at my watch at some point and found that it was after midnight. We were sipping tea again, with a shot of firewhiskey in each cup to keep it interesting. Maybe alcohol and tea weren’t supposed to mix, but I was barely tasting it anyway.

“I just think we’ll need to behave in a more appropriate fashion, considering I’m in a position of authority and you’re not,” I was saying, after sharing some complaints about hero worship disrupting my classes.

Hermione giggled. “You’re trying to be professional? You?”

“If _you_ don’t respect my authority as professor, why would any of the other students?” I said. “I need you to be the example you always were – the model student.”

“The teacher’s pet?” she said with a smirk, raising her teacup to her lips.

I grinned. “If you’re lucky.”

Hermione’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. She laughed lightly at my remark, but there was shrewdness in the glance she gave me over the rim of her cup. I met her gaze pleasantly.

After a couple of long seconds, she placed her cup back on the saucer but didn’t let go, drumming her nails thoughtfully on its side. Her eyes had that glazed look they got when she was deep in thought. I reclined back in my armchair, crossing one leg over the other and leaning on one elbow like a king relaxing on his throne.

“Knut for your thoughts?” I murmured. My eyes hadn’t left her face. I felt very focused, for some reason. My mind was clearing from the effects of alcohol in much the same way a lion might shake off the haze of sleep when it catches the scent of prey on the wind.

Hermione returned to reality with a long blink. Her smile, which had slowly faded while she mused, broadened once more.

“A knut?” she said with mock affront. “I’ll have you know, my thoughts are going to change the very nature of magical lawmaking.”

“Two knuts, then.”

Hermione snuffed a laugh, then leaned forward to rest her elbows on the desk, cradling her chin. The look she gave me was so playful it would have been called impish if it were anyone but Hermione.

“I _think_ … I’ll need to get used to calling you sir,” she said.

A plan formed in my mind. I thought it would fade by the time I woke up in the morning, but it was even stronger than before.

I wanted to play a game.

* * *

 

Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that. A mischievous conversation between old friends late in the evening was one thing, but how much remained in the morning light? Had she simply decided to humour my flirty behaviour? Did she have any inkling of what I had planned for her?

My first week of classes went a lot smoother than the first day. When you do the same thing all day, it quickly becomes intuitive. My time with the DA proved invaluable – I focused on treating my students as I would treat any member of my old club, and the results were very encouraging. The real challenge came from choosing the right lessons for the right years, as the curriculum didn’t always match up with what the kids were capable of. I used my own observations and experience to tailor the lesson plans on the fly. Improvisation was practically my major, after all.

As expected, the seventh-year class was my favourite. It was the largest due to the combination of new and returning students who had been forced to skip the previous year for obvious reasons. That meant I got to teach not only Hermione, but a whole chunk of kids from my year _and_ Luna’s year. It was incredible, and maybe a little too rowdy since we all knew each other, but they were attentive and respectful. Since I was learning the seventh-year material along with them, classes were somewhat informal and group-oriented. I directed the flow of discussion, but everyone got involved. It was literally the most fun I’d had in a classroom.

Teaching the Slytherins was a concern at first, but I cleverly mixed their class with the Hufflepuffs, whose calmer natures kept things from becoming too tense. Two other factors kept the Slytherins from being a real problem: first, many of them had declined to return after their parents or relatives were killed in these very halls (which was pretty reasonable in my opinion; I tended to avoid the corridors where people I knew had died), and second, a surprising amount of Slytherins had returned in the final hour, rallied and led by Slughorn. Those, I treated with the same respect I showed to other students who fought in the battle.

I didn’t get much time to speak to Hermione over the week, but she kept me entertained nonetheless. She consistently called me ‘sir’ during class despite the giggles it always elicited from her classmates, and she really did seem committed to her star student reputation. But had I caused that, or was she just doing what came naturally?

I decided to test her. On Friday, after classes, I sent a memo to her while I was sitting in my office. It was a short, cordial summons, the kind any teacher might send to a student they need a word with.

Hermione arrived not long after. She entered the office without knocking, a dry comment already on her lips and amusement in her eyes. I interrupted her before she could get the first word out.

“It’s polite to knock before entering a professor’s office,” I chided gently, raising my eyebrows in admonishment.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, a funnily impetuous gesture from someone as proper as her. She closed the door behind her and approached my desk.

“You didn’t even conjure a chair for me?” she huffed.

“I haven’t told you to sit,” I replied.

Hermione laughed. “Really? How far are you going to go with this?”

I smiled in return. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Surprisingly, Hermione didn’t conjure her own chair. Instead, she settled on her heels with a sigh, her arms folded and her hip cocked.

“Was there something you wanted, _sir?_ ” she asked sardonically.

“I just wanted to check in with my favourite student,” I said, ignoring her tone. “How did your classes go today?”

“Well it began with double Defence with the Ravenclaws… Oh, wait, you were there for that,” Hermione said, exasperated.

“What about your other classes?” I said genially.

Despite her annoyance, Hermione couldn’t seem to stop herself from gushing about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. The NEWT material was apparently fascinating, and while she had tried to keep up with her education during the Horcrux hunt, there was no substitute to focused studying.

I watched her as she spoke, studied the way she shifted her weight and gesticulated when explaining complex concepts. She was wearing the standard female uniform beneath her robes – a knee-length skirt, white shirt, and tie. Every so often, she would twirl her hips a little, making the hem of her skirt fly up and reveal an inch or two of pale white skin. I felt the beast in my chest rumble with contentment. Here I was, lounging back in my office while Hermione stood there and entertained me. Sure, it wasn’t exactly risqué, but it was a start.

“Take a point for Gryffindor for your sheer enthusiasm,” I said once she’d wound down.

“Gee, thanks, professor,” Hermione replied with humour, a little out of breath from all her talking. “Was there anything else, sir? Or can I go to bed now?”

“You may leave.”

With a dramatic, sarcastic curtsy, Hermione wished me a good night and left my office. As perverted as my goals were, I still rather enjoyed hearing about Hermione’s day, and I went to bed feeling like I was on the right track. For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, I didn’t fall asleep wishing Ginny was beside me.

* * *

It became routine for me to summon Hermione to my office every second day. Just like the first time, I made her stand in front of my desk and tell me about her classes. True to form, Hermione seemed to decide it was an excellent way to revise what she had learned so that she would remember it. After two weeks, she began knocking on my door without being summoned, just so she would have an excuse to go over the day’s discoveries. Her sarcasm fizzled out fairly quickly, surprisingly. Whenever she entered my office, she greeted me with a ‘Good evening, sir’ without batting an eyelid.

After every talk, I gave her a point for being so diligent. After a few days of points, she seemed to expect them whenever she finished giving her daily update. Sometimes I would hold back on awarding the point until she was just about to leave, and I didn’t miss the slight look of confusion on her face that appeared as a result.

Midway through the third week, I decided to step things up a notch. It was evening, and I was sitting in my office as usual. Eating in the Great Hall was something I saved for weekends due to the amount of paperwork I needed to do each night. But this night, paperwork was the last thing on my mind.

Before Hermione arrived, I drew my wand and cast a few liberal Warming Charms over the room, carefully modulating the heat to prevent it from getting out of control. I needed it warm, but not unreasonably warm. Just warm enough to elicit a certain response.

There was a knock on my door. I pretended to shuffle some papers. I could see Hermione’s shadow under the door, waiting patiently for my permission. It sent a little thrill up my spine.

“Enter,” I said.

Hermione walked in and closed the door. “Good evening, sir,” she said without preamble. “You won’t believe the project we’re working on in Arithmancy.” She paused in front of my desk, visibly registering the heat. She glanced at my hearth, but it was crackling at the same strength as always.

“Is something wrong, Miss Granger?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“A little warm, isn’t it?” she said with a frown.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Hermione hummed, still frowning. She plucked at the sleeves of her robes. Her black, cloistering robes.

“You can put your robes on my desk if you’re overheating,” I said calmly. “I don’t have a coat stand.”

“Oh… Well…” Hermione was suddenly avoiding my gaze. “I suppose it is a little stifling.” She slipped her robes off her shoulders and folded them neatly before placing them on the edge of my desk, close to her.

Without the robes spoiling everything, much more of Hermione’s figure was visible. Her button-up T-shirt left her arms exposed, and her collar wasn’t nearly high enough to hide her slender neck. Her skirt had a little more freedom of movement without the robes containing it, carrying the promise of future glimpses.

“You were saying something about an Arithmancy project?” I said, as though nothing was different.

“Ah… yes.” It took her a little while to build up speed, but once she got going, it was the same as every other session we’d had. I revelled in the obvious comfort she felt at going through this routine. She hadn’t commented on the lack of chairs in days. Sometimes she paced back and forth a little, or drew on my blackboard if she needed a diagram to get her point across. I allowed it. Exerting too much control over her natural mannerisms would only push her away, and while I got the feeling she had an inkling about my plans, I didn’t want to give her an excuse to get cold feet.

Afterwards, I played my ace card.

“Take two points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” I said, handing her robes back as she prepared to leave.

Hermione paused in the act of pulling her robes back on. I could see her wondering where the extra point came from. I didn’t offer an explanation.

Warming Charms became a common element in our sessions together. I don’t know what rationale she had decided on as an explanation for my sudden love of stifling offices, but I didn’t need to know. Hermione almost always chose to discard her robes before beginning her talk, and on the days she toughed it out, I only gave her one point.

The day came where I neglected to apply the Warming Charms, but Hermione entered and pulled her robes off without hesitation. I had successfully gotten her to associate taking her robes off with being with me, rather than because of the heat. The added, subconscious association with getting more points also worked in my favour.

To celebrate, I decided to move on to the next phase of my plan that very night.

“I’m planning to introduce a new element to my lessons,” I told Hermione once she’d finished recapping her day. “Since most of my classes are double periods, I think I can spare the time for some physical training.”

“Calisthenics in DADA?” she said curiously.

I nodded. “I think, due to the convenience of magic, most wizards neglect their physical fitness. If I can instil good habits into my students while they’re young, why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s a good idea.” Hermione smiled. “Is our class going to be the initial test?”

“Actually, you are.”

She blinked. “Me?”

I leaned forward, nodding emphatically. “See, I’ve already gone through the exercise routine myself, but I’m still pretty fit from playing Quidditch all those years. I need someone less active to try it out so I know if it’s too much.”

“But why me?” Hermione pressed.

I couldn’t very well _tell_ her I wanted to see her sweaty and out of breath for my viewing pleasure, but fortunately I had an excuse prepared. “Well, to be frank, you’re probably the least fit person in the class. Leaning over books in the library doesn’t exactly tone your muscles. So, I figure, if you can complete the routine, everyone else will be able to as well.”

Hermione’s expression had shifted from annoyance when I mentioned her fitness level, to sheepishness when I mentioned the library, and finally to an adorable pout when she realised I had a point.

She huffed. “I suppose you want me to do it in front of you?” she queried, stretching her legs.

“How else will I know if you’re slacking off?”

“And you want me to do this now?”

“No time like the present,” I said cheerfully. She gave me a flat look.

“Fine,” she said with another huff. “Tell me the routine.”

I felt as pleased as a man who had secured tickets to the Top Box at a Quidditch World Cup.

“It starts with some stretches, naturally,” I said, flicking my wand to make the appropriate drawings appear on the blackboard. They were animated so as to demonstrate the proper form for each movement.

The next few minutes were quiet except for little sounds of exertion as Hermione activated muscles that might not have ever been activated before. I savoured every little groan and sigh of relief as each position was released. When she reached high above her head, her shirt rode up slightly, revealing a line of milky flesh below her navel. Some positions required her to lean on my desk for leverage, giving me an up-close view of her loosening body. The sharp scent of her sweat began to mingle with her respectable perfume. There must have been some kind of pheromone in it, because I didn’t mind it at all.

Finally, the warmup was over. Hermione sat on the edge of my desk, rubbing her sore limbs. The curve of her rear was on display thanks to her thighs pinning her skirt against the desk.

“I don’t know about doing this for _every_ class,” she muttered.

“At the start and end of every class,” I corrected, meeting her glare with a smile when she looked over her shoulder. “You have to warm down after exercising, after all.”

Hermione dropped off the desk and rolled her shoulders with a wince. “Alright, what’s next?” she said.

“Squats,” I said innocently.

It didn’t work out quite how I planned. She was close enough to the desk that every time she did a squat, her face vanished from sight behind the desk, only to reappear a moment later as she returned to the starting position. The result being a hilariously unsexy jack-in-the-box.

Eventually, Hermione straightened, her cheeks red and breathing heavily. “I can’t… do this… while you’re watching,” she panted. “You look like you’re about to laugh at me. It’s putting me off.”

An idea popped into my head.

“Turn around, then,” I suggested amiably. “And do them in the middle of the room so you don’t bump into my desk.”

Hermione hesitated, biting her lip, before nodding abruptly and moving to follow my instructions.

_Now_ I had the Top Box. Hermione was clearly visible now that she was a little further away, and apparently found it easier to concentrate without meeting my gaze. I, too, found it easier to focus on the rise and fall of her rear end as it pushed her skirt out with each squat. She wasn’t going easy on herself; each squat was deep and slow, slowly revealing her pink thighs, moist with sweat, peaking with a glimpse of faint red knickers before hiding everything again.

I unconsciously began rubbing my hand against my hardening groin as I watched, mesmerised. Within seconds of watching the display, I had a significant bulge that stretched halfway to my kneecap. My well-fitted jeans were uncomfortable for the first time ever.

Hermione rose from her final crouch with a hiss through clenched teeth. The muscle groups on her legs were more defined. They quivered from the exertion.

“Tell me the next one doesn’t involve my legs,” she groaned.

“Put your hands up,” I told her. She obeyed, and I took my hand from my crotch in order to cast a spell. Twin rings of purple light appeared around Hermione’s wrists, locking them in place. She gasped when she realised she couldn’t move, and strained to look over her shoulder.

“Pull down with all of your strength,” I said, returning my hand to its original position. She couldn’t see below the desk, so I was feeling confident in my perversion.

Hermione strained and slowly brought her hands down to her sides. My eyes roamed her body, enjoying the way she squirmed and struggled for my amusement.

“Now push them back up,” I said.

With a long, pained moan, Hermione returned her arms to their position above her head. She seemed to get the idea, pulling them back down immediately. I threw out instructions as she worked, telling her to push and pull horizontally for a few sets, sometimes having her touch the floor just to get a glimpse of her curves again. My hand was still moving beneath the desk, and I was actively focusing on not letting my excitement bleed into my voice.

Once her resistance training was done, Hermione’s arms flopped bonelessly to her sides.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this for you,” she whined.

“You’re testing a theory for the sake of education,” I said. “I thought you’d be happy to take part.”

A surprised laugh slipped through my lips when she gave me the finger over her shoulder.

“Starjumps,” I ordered next. I was getting close.

Hermione stretched her legs tentatively, then took a deep breath and began to jump. Legs opening and closing, skirt flying up with every descent, sweat-slicked thighs on display… I was doomed.

I jammed my mouth shut to prevent a gasp escaping as warm liquid squirted down my right thigh, dribbling over my knee and running down my leg. My senses abandoned me for a moment, and when they returned I was startled by what I saw.

Hermione had stopped jumping and turned to face me. She leaned on her knees for support as she panted, “For God’s sake, am I almost done?”

“You’re done,” I said, trying to disguise the fact that I was almost as breathless as she was. “Three points to Gryffindor.”

Hermione gave me a mocking bow. “Glad I could help, Harry,” she wheezed.

“Yeah.” I swallowed and focused on controlling my breathing. “You helped a lot.” She tossed a smile my way before turning to leave. “Also, it’s ‘sir’, not Harry,” I added.

“Don’t push it,” she warned tiredly. I watched her walk away.

From the way she glanced back at me from the doorway, I thought she must have sensed something in my tone, maybe noticed my voice get a little huskier or my eyes a little sharper. But she didn’t comment on it, and soon I was left alone with my excitement roiling in my belly and my guilt carefully locked behind seven layers of obfuscation.

* * *

“You were right about me being out of shape,” Hermione moaned. “I’m still sore from yesterday.”

The seventh-year Defence class was in full swing, which meant a constant cacophony of spellcasting, discourse, and banter. I used the Room of Requirement as my classroom for the sheer convenience of it, and so far nobody had objected. The ex-DA members loved it.

“What happened yesterday?” interjected Seamus, straightening from a squat with a wince. “Did we miss something?”

“I had Hermione test out this routine before throwing you all in the deep end,” I explained. “She was only just able to complete it, which is why she’s feeling it today.”

Hermione whacked my arm half-heartedly.

“However,” I added on, “She _did_ finish it without complaining, which is more than you’ve managed today, Seamus.” The little white lie would serve as a fine motivator.

Dean sniggered nearby. Seamus drew himself up. “Well, if she had no problem with it, neither will I,” he said loudly. “I’m not considered the fittest man in the school for nothing, you know.”

 I left him behind as fellow Gryffindors laughed and tossed out their own boasts between sets. Hermione followed me, still moving stiffly.

“You need a massage,” I told her.

Hermione shook her head. “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think? I’ll just get some muscle soothers from Madam Pomfrey if I’m still sore tomorrow.” She wandered off to help Lavender Brown keep her feet on the ground while doing situps.

A little off-guard, I watched her out of the corner of my eyes. She didn’t seem to be acting any differently, but I was growing increasingly concerned about how much she had figured out from my odd behaviour this year. Really, if she had figured out _any_ part of my plan, I would have expected her to deliver a firm talk or a hard slap, possibly both.

I didn’t like living in uncertainty, and I’d be damned if I was going to wait for trouble to come to me. That wasn’t a bluff I was capable of calling – trouble _always_ came to me. After the class ended, I got Hermione to stay behind.

“You look serious, sir,” she said with a smirk.

“I want you to come to my office for a… frank conversation tonight,” I said, forcing the words out just to get the ball rolling.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “What kind of _frankness_ are we talking about?”

“Let me put it this way: if you know what I’m talking about, you won’t have to wonder what I’m talking about. If you’re not sure, don’t worry about it.”

She considered that for a long moment, nodding slowly. Her eyes got that glazed, far-away look, but only a few seconds passed before she shook herself out of it.

“Doing away with subtlety, I take it?” she murmured.

“I… wouldn’t say that,” I said, off-guard.

_Oh fuck. She knows._

Hermione laughed softly. “Your office, after dinner? I’ll be there, sir.”

* * *

It was a Friday, but I still refused to eat in the Great Hall. I was too busy stressing over Hermione’s imminent visit to focus on my paperwork, so I filed it away for Future Harry to deal with. Present Harry had more important thoughts on his mind, such as _what the fuck am I doing,_ and _how the hell did I get into this,_ and the all-time classic, _AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_

I realised I couldn’t actually pin down the moment I decided to go through with the plan, or even when the plan had formed. How had this happened so suddenly? All I knew was that I was committed now.

Maybe I was overthinking it. What’s a bit of fun between friends? Our partners were pushing us away in favour of familial solidarity or some rubbish, so who else were we supposed to spend time with?

None of these calming, reaching-for-a-justification thoughts were enough to keep my heart from immediately exploding into a sprint when there was a knock on my door.

“Enter,” I said, smoothing my face.

Hermione marched in and locked the door behind her. “If you’re wondering if I know about your little game, I do,” she said bluntly.

“What do you think you know?” I asked, tilting my head and trying to look casual.

“Hey, Hermione,” she said, putting on a deep voice that was clearly meant to be mine, “Do you mind turning around and doing some exercises that show off your butt while I loudly rub my jeans under my desk? No? Great! I’m Harry, by the way, the least subtle person in the world.”

I fought very hard to maintain my expression of disapproval, but heat rushed to my cheeks.

“So… you noticed the points?”

Hermione scoffed, her bushy hair bobbing slightly with the motion. “I take off my robes because your office is inexplicably stifling, and for no apparent reason you give me an extra point? Harry, please tell me you don’t think I’m stupid enough to not make the connection.”

“Did you only realise then, or did you already know?”

“I’ve been mulling over your weird behaviour since term started. At first I thought you were just enjoying yourself with the whole ‘call you sir’ thing, you know, just mucking around. But you hardly seemed to care if anyone else called you sir, even the girls who were absolutely ready to be the ‘teacher’s pet’, so to speak.” Hermione waved her hand vaguely. “It’s just a lot of things together, like your sudden flirty behaviour, the way you leered at me whenever I came here to tell you about my day, the obvious pleasure you were deriving from getting me to do what you say. Seeing you masturbate under your desk was just confirmation.” She smiled wickedly. “Did you have to wash those jeans afterwards?”

“I can’t help but notice that despite your mocking, you haven’t refused to play our _game_ even once,” I said accusingly.

It was Hermione’s turn to blush. She looked around my office, avoiding my eyes. “Well, what can I say?” she said. “It was my kind of game.”

That was what I wanted to hear.

“You know, the way I see it, the game has really only just started,” I ventured.

She pursed her lips as though thinking about it, but her blush had already deepened. “I would agree that seems to be the case. Only a lack of clear rules has really kept it from getting underway.”

I nodded slowly. “Every game needs a way to determine who’s ‘out-of-bounds’. Maybe once those boundaries are in place, there won’t be anything left except the game itself.”

“No boundaries,” Hermione said quietly, locking eyes with me for a brief, intense moment. “Just… rules.”

My heart raced. I tried very hard to hide how excited I was, in multiple ways.

“House points are always a good motivator for students,” I said. “You can earn extra points by displaying certain qualities… and doing certain tasks.”

“What qualities?”

I smiled. “Obedience. Subtlety. A certain… disregard for the rules.”

From the way her tongue darted out to lick her lips, I was ticking all the right boxes. “And… what would I do?”

I looked her dead in the eyes and hardened my voice. “Whatever I tell you to,” I said.

Hermione’s breath hitched, and I saw her legs actually tremble a little. But when she met my gaze, I saw the same hunger that had been growing inside me for weeks.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

 


	2. Slow and Steady

**Chapter Two: Slow and Steady**

I could hardly sleep after Hermione left. We didn’t say much more after her agreement, as it became clear we were both a little too… worked up to think straight. The Cleaning Charm was employed on my sheets twice that night.

It was Saturday morning, and, as usual, I took my breakfast in the Great Hall. One of the benefits to getting most of my paperwork done during the weeknights was that the weekend became an almost holy event: a time of pure relaxation.

It also gave me time to consider how I was going to approach our next meeting. Hermione had made it clear she would respond positively to almost anything, but whether that was her excitement talking or the truth remained to be seen.

I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift over to the Gryffindor table from my place among the faculty. She was sitting with our old housemates, or at least those that had decided to return to repeat their final year. It was interesting to note that despite years of being considered a know-it-all bookworm, she got along with them quite comfortably. I supposed a life-or-death battle really put things in perspective, for both parties.

Hermione became aware of my eyes on her. She smiled up at me. I took that to mean that no regrets had surfaced overnight. The beast inside me stirred.

Still, I’m nothing if not thoughtful when it comes to my best friend, so I wrote her a note.

_Miss Granger,_

_I hope you are enjoying your weekend. I would like you to meet me in my office before classes begin on Monday. If you are unable to attend, no points will be deducted. The meeting is entirely voluntary._

_Warm regards,_

_Professor Harry Potter_

It seemed straightforward enough: she would have two days to properly think about it, and if she was still into the idea of playing a game together, all she had to do was show up. Otherwise, things would carry on as normal.

And, maybe, I needed a little time to psych myself up.

* * *

Monday morning. I was up at five preparing my notes for each class and running over the seventh-year material. Just because I was learning alongside my former classmates didn’t mean I had to be clueless. Considering it was Defence, I took to the NEWT curriculum like an elf to cleaning.

I kept getting distracted and glancing at the door. My office was reasonably sized, with some filing cabinets and gadgets littered about on tables, and a big blackboard permanently hovering at the side of the room. I kept it clean and presentable, but it was very lived-in. Hermione had called it ‘kind of cosy’ once, and I took it to heart.

There was a knock on the door. I felt my lips pull back in a wild grin and quickly smothered it. Half the game was composure, after all. There would be time enough for wildness later.

“Enter,” I said.

The object of my newfound hunger stepped into the room obediently, closing the door behind her.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” I said. “How are you this morning?”

Little patches of colour appeared in her cheeks. “I’m… good, sir,” she said quietly.

“Did you enjoy your weekend?”

She nodded. “Keeping up with my studies was simple enough.”

I smiled and let the silence hang for a few moments.

“Was there something you needed me for, sir?” Hermione asked. Her tone was even and normal. Only the way she fiddled with her sleeves betrayed her nervousness.

“Yes, Miss Granger,” I said genially. “Remove your panties and place them on my desk.”

Hermione jerked a little. She licked her lips. “Sir?”

“Remove your panties,” I repeated slowly, calmly. “And place them on my desk.”

She stood stock-still for a good three seconds, and in that time I began to freak out internally. Had I _completely_ misinterpreted every exchange we’d had since returning to Hogwarts? Was I thinking on a completely different level? What had she been expecting? Because it certainly hadn’t been this.

Then Hermione bowed her head meekly. She bent forward and touched her fingertips to her lower thighs, then slowly drew them up, taking two corners of her skirt with her. Inch by inch, I saw her pale thighs revealed further than ever before. Her thumbs hooked behind something hidden in the scrunched-up skirt. She looked at me, her brown eyes wide and innocent, as she tugged her white panties down from beneath her skirt. I couldn’t actually see anything due to the way the skirt dipped in the centre, but my imagination had a field day nonetheless.

When the panties reached her ankles, she stepped out of them with deliberate slowness. I enjoyed the motion, despite the fact I couldn’t see any more than I could when she came in. Just _knowing_ she was bare to the world except for the skirt was enough to get me ready to go.

Hermione held her panties in front of her, letting me see them as she silently placed them on my desk. I fought the urge to immediately examine them. She needed a composed authority figure at the moment.

“Very good,” I said. “You may go.”

“W-What?” she said, her eyes wide.

“I just dismissed you, Miss Granger,” I said sternly. “You will return here at the end of the day to collect your belongings.”

“But… sir, I have Defence today.” She was panicking a little. “We have to do exercises in that class that might, um, expose my participation in this game.”

I considered her words. More accurately, I cursed the fact I had forgotten that I was teaching my seventh-year class today. In a stroke of brilliance, I said, “You will be excused from the exercise portion of that lesson. However, you will have to complete it another time, perhaps when you return here in the evening. I don’t tolerate slackers, Miss Granger, so rest assured I will monitor your exercises very closely.”

Hermione got it. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly, bowing her head. I didn’t miss the way she clenched her thighs, even hidden as they were beneath her skirt.

The day was underway, and thoughts of our game were forced from my head by the necessity of focusing on my students. There was one moment, after lunch, where I passed Hermione in an empty corridor. We both had places to be, but I couldn’t help but smirk while watching her pass. She seemed like she was going to ignore me, but as she walked away, she flipped the back of her skirt up for a split second, flashing her curvy rear.

I loved her attitude.

The time came for Hermione to come and collect her property.

As per usual, I was sitting in my office. She hadn’t arrived yet, and I was holding her panties just above my lap. They were perfectly clean (which should have been obvious considering she probably only wore them for a few minutes after showering this morning), but I imagined I could scent something musky and thrilling in the cotton.

At Hermione’s knock, I placed the panties on my desk again and let her in.

“Miss Granger,” I said cordially. “I did you a favour by excusing you from the calisthenics portion of today’s exercises. I expect you to make up for it. These exercises are important to your growth as a person.”

“Shall… shall I begin with squats again, sir?” Hermione asked, her voice wobbling a bit.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” I said. My own voice was a few shades huskier than usual.

Hermione nodded and turned around slowly. I could see her chest rising as she took deep, calming breaths. Slowly, painfully slowly, she sunk down into a squat, with her legs at shoulder-width, her back straight, and her bottom stuck out towards me. It was a textbook squat, exactly the kind of thing I would expect from such a model student.

Except for the fact I could see her lower lips peeking out from under her skirt as it rode up her thighs. They were bald, smooth, and carried a rosy tint that was almost identical to the blush on her face. Even partly concealed, they had an immediate effect on me. Within seconds, I was at full mast, and my jeans once again became impossibly confining.

Hermione held the squat for much longer than she needed to, giving me time to ogle her. I responded by loudly unbuckling my jeans. The sound of my zipper going down pierced the comfortable silence, and I saw Hermione visibly tense.

“That’s one,” I said, jolting her into motion as she continued the set. Meanwhile, I freed myself properly under the desk and began stroking in earnest. Every time Hermione revealed the bottom of her cheeks and lips to me, I lurched closer to my completion.

“Resistance training, sir?” Hermione said as she finished her final set. She was panting, though whether from excitement or exertion it was hard to tell.

I was never going to make it that far. “Ah… Instead, why don’t you…” For some reason, I was finding it difficult to concentrate.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at me. There was no doubt she could see my hand moving rapidly below the desk. She bit her lip and sucked in a long, shaky breath.

“Do you… mind if I rest for a moment, sir?” she whispered.

“No,” I grunted. Her eyes on me heightened every sensation.

Hermione walked slowly over to the desk. “I neglected my stretches,” she said, raising one leg high enough to place her foot flat on my desk. Her pose was like an exaggerated version of a hero standing with one leg on the body of an enemy, her chest out, her stance wide and proud.

It also gave me a completely unrestricted view under her skirt, raised as it was by her leg. Her lips were swollen and pink. They were very neat, giving me only the barest glimpse of her moist, quivering inner folds. Her chest heaved as she stared down at me, and I realised she could see behind the desk now. A droplet of something sweet and beautiful ran down her inner thigh. I wanted nothing more than to taste it.

But the thought alone set me off. Without thinking, I snatched Hermione’s panties from where they sat on my desk and pulled them over my tip, releasing spurt after spurt into them, turning them whiter and whiter by the second. Every muscle in my body tensed, then relaxed. My hair was damp with sudden sweat. It was several seconds before I became cognizant of the world around me once more.

Hermione was staring.

Her eyes were locked on her soaked panties. By extension she was staring at something else too. My sense of fairness forced me to wait, to let her get the eyeful she had given me. I felt it throb when I saw her eyes running up and down its length, seemingly absorbed in her observation.

Only when biology took over and began to shrink everything back down to proportion did she finally take her eyes from it. She had both her feet on the floor now, leaning over the desk towards me. I wondered if she’d leaned in in hopes of becoming more directly involved, and felt a twitch as the prospect found an agreeable audience in my nervous system.

“As promised,” I said, “You may have these back.”

I reached over, holding her panties out. She didn’t take them gingerly like I expected. Instead, she grasped them with both hands, not even trying to stop my seed from getting all over her fingers. With a swift, practiced movement, she bent down and slipped her feet inside, then pulled the panties up her legs. Sticky wet smudges were left along her calves, and I couldn’t imagine what she looked like in the parts I couldn’t see.

“Five points to Gryffindor,” I managed to choke out over my shock.

Hermione beamed at me, clasping her soiled hands together over her belly. “Thank you, sir.”

“That will… be all for today.” I leaned back in my chair, my breathing returning to normal, but still as enthralled as ever.

Hermione nodded and went to leave. At the door, she tossed a swift, excited grin over her shoulder that I answered with a lazy smile. Neither of us wanted to break character, but it was clear that we both considered the evening an excellent start.

* * *

The daily trials of being a student and teacher kept us apart for a while, with nothing but bitten lips and burning eyes passing between us during the few moments we weren’t being observed. I was restless and aching for another encounter, but it seemed like my work pile was only getting larger. Teaching wasn’t something I was prepared to half-arse, considering how long the children of Britain had been without a competent Defence professor, but my dedication left very little time for games.

The stars aligned one Wednesday afternoon, almost two weeks since our last meeting. I had no more lessons to give that day, and was actually ahead on my paperwork. My heart sped up even as I was writing the memo and sending it on its way, and Hermione arrived at my office so quickly she must have run at least part of the way.

“Enter,” I said, trying to hide my eagerness so the game wouldn’t be ruined.

Hermione rushed in and hurriedly closed the door. She visibly took hold of herself and sunk back into the role of a summoned, obedient student.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” she said, a little breathless.

I decided we were both wound a little too tight to properly enjoy this. We had the whole evening, after all, so why rush?

“Tell me about your day, Miss Granger,” I said cordially.

Hermione was clearly a bit surprised, but I think she understood. I relaxed into my chair as she began talking. The urgent tension slowly left our bodies and was replaced with the relaxed, playful atmosphere we’d shared since the first session. My hearth was crackling merrily, the sun had just set, and the night was full of promise.

“Hold that thought,” I said, raising a finger.

Hermione stopped speaking mid-gesture and blinked at me. “Sir?”

“It sounds like you’ve had quite a long day. Maybe you should have a seat this time.”

“Oh. Alright.”

She waited expectantly for me to conjure a chair, but I just smiled and patted my lap. Now on the same page, Hermione suppressed a smirk and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Well, I suppose if there’s nowhere else to sit…” she said, plopping herself down on my right thigh like a kid about to tell Santa what they want for Christmas.

“Now, what were you saying?” I said.

Hermione stuttered as she tried to return to her previous train of thought, but I suppose I wasn’t exactly helping her concentrate by tracing my fingers up and down her spine. Having her so close was intoxicating. I could feel the warmth radiating from her body, the brush of air against my cheek whenever she exhaled, and the smell of her reserved taste in perfume.

“There was a group test in, um, Arithmancy,” she said, “It required us to work together on a large set of equations. We tried completely all of them together, but it ended up being more efficient to simply divide the workload, so that we were all working on our own part of the whole – _oh!_ ”

I had slipped my left hand up her skirt and hooked a finger around the hem of her panties.

“Did you do your part?” I asked quietly, pulling one side of her panties down a couple of inches.

“I was the f-first to complete my portion of the… um, the plan,” breathed Hermione, losing concentration by the second.

I slid my finger along the hem, dragging my knuckle across the skin of her pubic mound until I reached the other side. “So you didn’t let your team down?”

Hermione shook her head in little jerks. “N-No…”

I yanked the other corner of her panties down and drew them along her thighs, making her shudder continuously. They fell down her calves and hung off her black, polished school shoes like a contrast between corruption and order. She was wearing her light red panties today. I wondered if she had thrown the white pair out, but I doubted it. Hermione was proving to be far tougher than she first appeared, at least when it came to this sort of thing. How many fantasies lay buried in that sharp mind?

Hermione was bare against my thigh. The heat coming off her body multiplied in intensity. She began to rock slightly, digging my hard leg muscles into her core. I let her. My right hand, which had been rubbing her back, rose up to trace her shoulder blades as her back began to arch. I dug into all the sensitive little knots that I knew were there and felt her quicken her pace.

“Were you a good girl today?” I murmured, my voice thick with desire.

Hermione quivered in my lap. She mumbled a response, but it was gibberish. Her words dissolved into a long, low whine that coincided with a full-body shudder that lasted almost thirty seconds. My right thigh was suddenly warm and wet, stained for the second time in as many weeks. She hugged me, burying her face in my neck, her breathing ragged. I felt every shiver that rocked her as she slowly relaxed.

Minutes passed as she clung to me. Without thinking, I kissed the top of her head. A long hair got caught in my mouth. I shifted slightly so I could reach around and pull it out, but Hermione apparently took it as a sign that I was getting restless, because she jolted out of her post-orgasmic haze and slid off my lap.

I reached out to steady her since her legs were shaking so badly, but after a few steps around to the other side of my desk, she seemed alright. Occasionally, a muscle twitched in remembrance of the contractions that occurred a few minutes earlier.

I saw Hermione’s face for the first time since she started hugging me. She was delightfully flushed, and her eyes were shining. Even with her fringe plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her shirt in disarray, she managed a tremulous smile.

“Thank you, sir.” Her voice carried that slightly croaky quality that people got first thing in the morning. My heart nearly burst.

“You’re welcome, Miss Granger,” I replied, running my hand across the damp patch on my leg with a smile

Hermione’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Sorry,” she said quietly, in a voice like her normal self.

I chuckled. “It’ll be a miracle if these jeans last much longer, the number of Cleaning Charms I’ve been pummelling them with.”

“Maybe next time, you can…” Hermione trailed off, losing her nerve. I knew what she was going to say, because I was thinking the same thing.

“Maybe next time,” I said lightly.

“Do you mind if I go, sir?” she said, cringing as she shifted her thighs. “I… definitely need a shower.”

“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully, running my eyes over her body. “Alright. You may go.”

I had considered not letting things end there, but from the gratitude on her face, I made the right decision. There would be another time – _many_ other times – when I would be able to escalate things.

After a polite curtsy (which gave me a peek at her soaked upper thighs), Hermione left my office. It only took me a moment to notice that her panties remained on my desk.

Like a starving man spotting food, I snatched them up and brought them to my face, inhaling deeply. I shuddered. That thrilling, musky scent I’d caught a few times while Hermione was nearby was imbued in every fibre of her panties. It drove me wild. I released myself from the confines of my impossibly tight jeans and focused every inch of my being on the piece of heaven she left behind.

“Oh, my,” breathed a soft voice.

My eyes shot open in terror. My heart, which was already racing, threatened to explode through my chest.

Hermione was back in the room, closing the door behind her. She looked a little sheepish. “I, um, didn’t actually mean to leave them, sir,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “My thoughts are still a little… frazzled.”

“Miss Granger,” I panted as I lowered her panties from my nose, “You’re killing me.”

Hermione snuffed a laugh. “Sorry, sir.” She bit her lip, hiding a smile. “I was only gone for thirty seconds. You really didn’t waste any time, did you, sir?” she teased.

I scowled at her. “Come here, Miss Granger,” I said.

Hermione blinked, surprised. A hint of uncertainty entered her posture, but I kept my face firm. She took one, hesitant step, then stumbled quickly up to my desk. I tucked myself away and buckled my jeans. From her confused frown, that wasn’t what she had been expecting.

“Around here,” I said, beckoning her back to my side of the desk. The second she was close enough, I seized her hips and pulled her over my lap, like a child about to receive a punishment. She shrieked a little from my roughness.

“S-Sir?” Hermione said, her voice a little panicky.

With my left hand, I stroked her back comfortingly. With my right, I pulled her skirt up so that her soft, round rear was on full display. I didn’t hesitate. I slid my hand over her squishy globes, marvelling at the softness, the smoothness of her skin. I trailed my fingertips in lazy patterns down to the sensitive region at the back of her thighs, taking pleasure in every errant flinch my touch elicited.

My tickles turned into a massage, seizing and kneading Hermione’s flesh in a way that made her let out a low groan. She arched her back a little, pushing her rear into my palm, a gesture of want that I wasn’t sure she was aware of making. I pulled her cheeks aside, first one, then the other, enjoying the sight of her most hidden places.

“D-Don’t look,” Hermione squirmed. It was an automatic, flustered response. I could see very well how much she wanted me to look.

“Did you just tell me what to do?” I said flatly. I increased the pressure of my rubbing, making her gasp before thrusting her rear back into my hand.

“No, sir – I was – I – Oh, _God,_ Harry,” she choked, now practically humping my lap.

I grinned at the slip. Seeing Hermione come undone was quickly becoming my favourite pastime.

Out of curiosity, I raised my hand and delivered a firm smack to her bottom.

Hot liquid splashed against my palm. Hermione’s fast breathing turned into a series of high-pitched squeaks as she made a mess of my jeans _again_.

“Really, Miss Granger?” I murmured, bringing my wet hand close to my face to study it. The scent was so overpowering I nearly passed out from how quickly the blood rushed to my lower half.

“I-I didn’t expect,” Hermione squeaked through uneven breaths. “That was – you were just – so _strong_ – I couldn’t do anything!” She swallowed loudly. “T-Thank you, sir. I’m sorry I teased you. I deserved this.”

My eyebrows rose with every word. I was impressed. It seemed as though my proper friend had a previously-untapped well of desire inside her that I was only just discovering. When she told me she had no boundaries, I had been sceptical, but now…

Hermione slid off my lap and dropped to a kneeling position between my legs. She fiddled with my belt buckle.

“Miss Granger,” I said warningly, “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Hermione actually whined in frustration, resting her cheek against my inner thigh and staring up at me petulantly.

“Please,” she whispered, only seeming to realise what she said a moment later judging from the way her blush deepened.

“Please what?”

She hid her face in my groin out of embarrassment. The sensation of her lips and cheeks sliding over my skin, even through my jeans, was electrifying. She mumbled something into my pants.

“Speak up,” I chided her.

Hermione looked up at me, her eyes bright and her cheeks red. She emanated the kind of warmth and vitality only true arousal (and multiple orgasms) could bring forth in a woman.

“Please let me touch your cock, sir,” she said shakily.

Well, what kind of friend would I be if I said no?

At my nod, she tore open my belt buckle and zipper before pulling the front of my jeans down far enough for me to flop out, already at full mast. It actually smacked into her face, such was its desire for freedom. She didn’t seem to mind.

My length covered one of Hermione’s eyes and was as long as her head. Her nose twitched as she smelled me. Her lips parted unconsciously, forming a little pink oval.

“You look good like this,” I remarked. She winked at me with her hidden eye, tickling the underside of my shaft with her eyelashes.

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione murmured.

I could feel her breath against my balls. This was going to be a very, very short final act for the evening.

“I always wondered,” she said absently, nuzzling me.

“Wondered what?”

Hermione nudged my sack with her chin as she ran her lips down my shaft. “Shallow things,” she said. “Things you shouldn’t wonder about your best friend. The size, the shape.” Her nostrils flared. “The _smell,_ ” she panted.

“Oh?”

Pausing for a moment, Hermione glanced up at me with a hint of insecurity. “Do you think it’s odd that I find that so appealing?”

“Not at all,” I promised. “What do you think I was doing when you came back for your panties?”

Hermione grinned and returned her attention to my throbbing length. She kept her mouth closed and made as much use as possible from her hands and lips. It was in stark contrast to Ginny, who tended to drool like mad in her enthusiasm (or former enthusiasm, apparently). Hermione seemed to intuitively understand that it wasn’t about just _doing_ things to my cock, it was about how she did them. When she finally employed her tongue, she fluttered her eyelashes at the same time, as though pleasured by the very taste of my member.

“Miss Granger, you are… certainly… the most… studious…” I trailed off, unable to come up with suitable professor-isms while this close to the edge. The act crumbled entirely when she began wiggling her tongue against the sensitive spot on the underside of the tip. I couldn’t stop myself.

“Hermione,” I gasped. “ _Fuck,_ Hermione.”

Hermione’s deft fingers gently grasped my balls as they began to pump. Squirt after squirt shot across the top of her head. Her other hand stroked my shaft firmly, milking out as much as possible. My hips bucked involuntarily, but she took it in stride, letting me fuck her hand. My back arched and my teeth clenched in a rictus of pleasure. I was putty in her hands.

When my senses returned, Hermione was holding me gently, slowing her strokes but still lovingly teasing the last few drops out. She wore a white crown that dripped down her face. Pearly beads were caught in her eyelashes, but she looked up at me without flinching.

I reached down and brushed my fingers against her cheek. She smiled, and I returned it.

“Now I _really_ need a shower,” Hermione muttered.

I gave a wheezing laugh, still breathing heavily. “Stop breaking character.”

She laughed wickedly. “Sorry, sir,” she said in a sing-song voice as she got to her feet.

As I began to wonder how I was going to clean myself up when I’d made such an impressive mess, Hermione drew her wand and answered the question for me. All trace of my product vanished from my jeans and the floor where it had dripped off Hermione. She even tucked my sensitive, shrinking cock back into my boxers and zipped up my jeans.

“Such a talented student,” I said with a smirk.

Hermione wryly bowed her head in thanks before turning her wand on herself.

“Wait,” I said. “Leave it on.”

Hermione groaned. “Can we do that one another time? I feel filthy, Harry. I mean, sir. I already skipped my shower this morning because I was running late and didn’t think you’d contact me today.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, fine. On your way then, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said gratefully, cleaning my seed from her face and hair.

“Magic really removes the effort from daily chores, doesn’t it?” I said ponderously.

Hermione shrugged. “No matter how convenient things get, whether by magic or Muggle technology, people will always find something to complain about.”

I hummed in agreement, but my mind was already thinking about the future, and about a certain Prefect bathroom that could serve a greater purpose. Cleaning Charms were so boring, after all.

Hermione bid me goodnight with a chaste curtsy, and I waved her off with as much authority and sternness as I could summon after what we just shared, which wasn’t much.

I slept like a _rock_ that night, and my dreams were full of inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about having the indirect descriptions break down into actual smut as their game of pretend breaks down into lust.  
> What do you think? Might be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just a vehicle for a bunch of kinky H/Hr scenes.  
> Suggestions are welcome, but I might not do them if I don't like them.


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